A Year Later ...

The past week has been an emotional one as I hit the one-year mark after breaking my pelvis last November. Specifically, November 22 last year was the day I fell and fractured my pelvis, November 25 was the day of my surgery, and November 27 was the day I came home to recuperate in a hospital bed and begin in-home physical and occupational therapy.

Thanksgiving and Christmas celebrations were skipped last year, with the exception of giving gifts we could purchase for our family online. The Christmas tree stayed packed away, and in its place my family put out a tabletop tree that had been one of our daughters’ when she lived in an apartment. My family set it on the coffee table at the foot of my hospital bed so I could see it.

This Thanksgiving weekend, I took time away from work to enjoy four days of pleasure. On Thursday, my family and I came together to savor a scrumptious Thanksgiving feast prepared by my sister that included all the trimmings. And beginning on Friday, I set out our favorite Christmas decorations. The highlight of the weekend was when my husband and I took out my favorite tree—a nine-foot beauty that we hadn’t put up in at least a few years. Due to my husband’s back issues, he’d requested we not go through the physical gymnastics required to lift it out of our in-home storage area and instead put up a much smaller tree we had purchased because it was easier to manage. This year, however, we were both ready to put in the extra effort.

Decorating the tree has become “my thing” while he watches, yet this year I had the joy of sharing the experience with our nine-year-old grandson. Saturday started with the two of us taking a trip to buy strands of replacement lights and some new ornaments that he picked out. Then we got to work, and he helped with every phase: taking turns with me climbing up and down the ladder and step-stool to string the lights, hang the ornaments, and stream decorative gold ribbons. We sat back after a few hours to admire our work.

“It’s so beautiful,” my grandson exclaimed.

“I forgot how beautiful this tree is,” my husband stated.

I teared up as I considered the difference between this Thanksgiving weekend and last year’s. I was filled with gratitude for where I am today—whole, yet still healing. No longer walking with devices and capable of climbing stairs and ladders, I continue to deal with occasional pain, a reminder that I need to balance movement with rest and to acknowledge that my body needs extra care and attention. A lesson I continue to work on … one of the many.

As I sat gazing at our brilliant Christmas tree, it was impossible to not feel the grief of what transpired last November and in the subsequent months. I cannot deny that the reasons behind my misstep that led to my fall bring up sadness and regret. But getting stuck in that quagmire of “if onlys” pulls me down—and I don’t want to live in that place. So, rather than using my pain as a reminder of what I should have done differently, when I experience pain, whether internal or external, I have a choice to see it differently, to consider that it is showing up to remind me to tend to myself and to offer myself more grace and self-love.

Last year’s event has been the catalyst for many ongoing introspective sessions. As I sit with where I am today, and inspired by Stephanie Raffelock’s recent piece on healing, the writing below came out. The lessons and opportunities for growth continue.

Healing …

Recovering …

Releasing …

Reclaiming …

Exchanging what is no longer needed for what is absolutely necessary. Urging me to consider:

• What have I held on to for far too long?

• What have I lost as I clung desperately to what I believed I needed?

• What have I missed as I fixated on living focused on outcomes and accomplishments?

• What have I let atrophy within myself as I sought to control what was outside of me?

• Now that the physical demands of healing have lessened and the physical pain has quieted to a periodic hum, how do I stay loyal to my deeper healing?

These questions swirl and churn within, asking me to take time with each.

My physical body calls to me to respond with less mental force and more physical flow. The gentle movement that brings flexibility to my heart and all my muscles.

My bones are healed and strong. They are set and steady. These bones will carry me forward. But what about the rest of me?

Now comes the need to stretch physically, mentally, and emotionally. To reach for the love within and nurture it back to the soft, pliable, supple fuel it is meant to be. To release the bindings of performance and achievement to experience creative manifestation. And to live in the abundance that comes from the alchemy of pain and joy.

Healing requires active tending, engaging with the light and the dark to birth the next version of me who embraces each and every moment, each experience, and each invitation to grow deeper in wisdom and love.

Rooted and resilient.

Open and receptive.

Humble and reverent.

And most especially, grateful … for All of it.

Our lighted, decorated tree is a reflection of the grace and love available to me. It is a beacon to show me where I am encouraged to be today—remembering what I’ve come through and appreciating where I am in this moment. And that makes me smile, feeling the warmth of love within and surrounding me.